


To Fulfill His Fate

by AideStar



Series: Linked Universe Fics [15]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Blood, Blood and Injury, Depressing, Graphic Description, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, I toned this down in editing but it's still heavy, Inspired by Dreams, Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), Loneliness, Mute Link (Legend of Zelda), Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Worth Issues, Stitches, Suicidal Thoughts, Wild (Linked Universe) Angst, Wild (Linked Universe)-centric, Wild is referred to as Link in this, it's also technically a 'boys meet Wild' fic, tagging suicidal thoughts bc Wild is having a rough time w self worth, there's a lil bit of comfort at the end but yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24914608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AideStar/pseuds/AideStar
Summary: The hero was dead.He knew that.Stupid boy, stop playing hero. You’re just going to get yourself killed.Link had heard those words countless times across Hyrule. Ever since he’d woken up in that strange stone tomb, voices in his head foreign and begging, ghosts giving him directives, memories long gone poking at the edge of his mind. The hero was dead. He died a hundred years ago.He failed.---Wild travels across Hyrule, an unknown and unnamed rogue dispatching monsters in the night. He has no friends, no family, and everyone thinks he’s long dead.
Series: Linked Universe Fics [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1758937
Comments: 40
Kudos: 518





	To Fulfill His Fate

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyyyy this one is dark. I wouldn't say it's the darkest LU fic I've written (one had literal suicide in it so) but it's... sad. Based on a dream I had, toned down just a bit though bc it was ouch and the first draft of this was also ouch. Also this fic is long and doesn't split so I'm just gonna post it in one go, sorry guys. Tomorrow I'm gonna post smth really fun, gotta alternate and all! Just want to warn about the content, I don't want people going in expecting to come out happy. Sorry.  
> Leave a comment or kudos if you enjoyed. Comments make my day :)

He was bleeding. Normally that wouldn’t be an issue. In fact, it was a pretty frequent occurrence for him to be bleeding. However right now, at this very moment, he was bleeding a bit _too much_ and it was making it rather hard to escape the fight he’d gotten himself into. Trees whipped past as he ran-- _stumbled_ \--through the forest. Branches whacked his legs, slapped against his arms and face when he was too distracted to dodge. The gash in his side protested the movement, leaking blood through his tightly gripped fingers, droplets falling to the ground in a thin trail. The Lynel knew exactly where he was; would know without even looking. Even Link could smell the heavy iron in the air, his heart pounding in his ears as blood rushed from the gash. At least the Lynel was giving chase, which would allow him to accomplish the one thing he’d come out here to do. He’d heard about the Lynel stalking the woods in the town below and took it upon himself to help by dispatching the beast.

It had rained the night before, making the forest floor damp and causing leaves to coat the ground in a thin layer. He’d been doing well until the leaves clung to his boots and caused his footing to slip just an inch. Unbalanced and without good traction, the Lynel took its chance, striking him hard with its sword and cutting clear into Link’s abdomen. It was at that point he’d decided to run.

_Failure, coward._

He’d gotten a bit of distance between him and the beast. If he stopped, the Lynel could clear it in a few massive strides, but Link knew there was a canyon ahead. The Lynel didn’t, having chased him well out of its territory. He sped up, ignoring the insistent fiery pain beneath his hand, and just before he ran off the cliff he reached back and grabbed his glider. Two more steps and Link jumped off the ledge, and three seconds later the Lynel was skidding off the side too. Not enough time to slow down. It scrambled for hold but it was futile, and just like that the Lynel fell down the canyon, disappearing into a distant puff of purple smoke below. Link floated, wind snapping at the fabric above his head and making his ears and cheeks prick with cold. His side screamed, but he ignored it. Below him rested the town, now safe from the beast’s terror. He knew it would be pointless, but he steered his glider there nonetheless, stumbling onto the cobblestone road as he landed.

He would’ve thought by now he’d have gotten used to the looks, but they still stung. Passersby gave him a wide berth, gazes narrowed in suspicion or wide in horror. Link pulled up his hood to hide his scarred face, feeling the weight of the world heavy on his shoulders. His blue tunic was torn to shreds and stained with fresh blood, still leaking steadily down his side and leg from the wound. He was out of elixirs, he’d have to make more. Why didn’t he stock up before going after that Lynel? He needed to work on his self preservation skills...

Link spotted a swinging sign above a shop door, a potion bottle painted in white on worn wood. He opened the door with his clean hand, grimacing at the amount of blood coating the other, and walked into a small room that smelled of herbs. The shopkeeper was an elderly man, his face breaking into a friendly smile as the door chimed. It quickly fell to irritation as he realized who Link was.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid we’re closed.” the man bit out, voice filled with disgust. Link bristled, eyes scanning the edges of the shop where potions sat in little bottles. He had plenty of money, he was a mere hundred rupees away from the bleeding gash in his side being healed. But the shopkeeper only narrowed his gaze, wrinkled hand grasping the handle of a broomstick behind the counter. “Leave, now.”

Link had taken one step into the shop to begin with. Now he took one step out, watching the door swing shut as he did. The man hurried towards it, glaring daggers at him through the window and locking the bolt. Link let out a shaky sigh, bloodied hand going back to his side as he stumbled on to find the real reason he’d stopped in this town again.

She sat on her doorstep, head propped on her hand as she watched the townsfolk go about their day. Link waved when her eyes found him and she nodded hesitantly as he approached.

“Did you kill the Lynel?” she asked, a hint of fear in her tone. He nodded. “Good. Now the town can hunt again.”

Link nodded once more, the glimmer of satisfaction in his chest nothing compared to the drive he used to have. Before he stepped away she caught his eyes again, biting her lip nervously. “Thank you,” she whispered, as if the words were a great secret to be shared. As if the simple two-word phrase was something of great shame, that she would be punished for saying them. It wasn’t far from the truth. “I don’t know why you do it. The hero is dead, and no one here appreciates you pretending to be one. But you are my hero, today. So thanks.”

Link felt hot tears prick at his eyes and he nodded once more in thanks. She looked away, cold exterior on again after such touching words, and Link took his cue to leave.

The hero was dead.

He knew that.

_Stupid boy, stop playing hero. You’re just going to get yourself killed._

Link had heard those words countless times across Hyrule. Ever since he’d woken up in that strange stone tomb, voices in his head foreign and begging, ghosts giving him directives, memories long gone poking at the edge of his mind. The hero was dead. He died a hundred years ago.

He failed.

The people of this time had varying opinions on heroes and heroics. They could all fend for themselves, they had no need for a _hero_. He was a _nuisance_ , a _danger_ , a _curse_ plaguing them with his desire to help. Finding two young girls in the woods surrounded by Bokoblins and finishing them off with his bow had led to a slap in the face. _I can take care of myself, thank you very much!_ He wasn’t wanted. He wasn’t needed. But the voice egged him on, drew him towards what he was told was his destiny. Every day he fought, every day he bled, every day he drew closer to the end of his mission. He thought, if I’m not wanted, and if I died a hundred years ago, who am I? Am I a ghost? Am I a demon? Will I finally be able to rest when I defeat Calamity Ganon?

He was so tired. He wanted to rest.

He wanted to be at peace.

So Link rushed into things head first, and he died many times along the way, grasping desperately towards the beyond as the light at the end of the tunnel stretched further and further away. Now when he died, all he saw was darkness. There would be no light waiting for him when he was finally allowed to rest.

He defeated Ganon. Zelda--the voice, the one from his memories, she looked exactly the same (was she dead too?)--thanked him. Link had never been thanked before. He didn’t know how to feel.

But it wasn’t over.

Every day after that he spent the same as before. Traveling. Sleeping beneath the stars on the cold, hard ground. Finding people who needed a hero, whether they asked for one or not. Killing every monster that strayed in his path. He was known, and he was despised. The handful of people who thanked him, who appreciated his efforts, dwindled. Zelda was busy with her duty, and he was busy fulfilling the goal she’d set for him when he rose from the dead.

Save the world.

A world that didn’t want to be saved.

Link used his slate to teleport home, blood smearing across the screen. He had a home, funnily enough, though it felt wrong to be there. He’d never slept in the bed that lay dusty inside. He never ate at the table in his living room. He rested by the cook pot out front, under a big tree and a sky of twinkling stars, on soft grass with the smell of the sea on the air. Sleeping inside the walls was stifling--sleeping on something as soft as a bed was frightening. The chamber he’d woken in had been freezing cold and made of unyielding stone. He slept for a hundred years-- _failure_ \--on a slab of rock, and anything softer was a trap.

Link stumbled his way from the shrine, across the swaying bridge, through the creaking door. He hadn’t needed a door, but Bolson had offered one, and he would finish each quest to its completion. The house was dusty and barren. Home. He hadn’t been here in months. Link set his slate down on the table and ducked into the alcove beneath the stairs. He always kept emergency supplies, although his stock was running low here too. In the chest he found a few rolls of bandages. It would have to do. He didn’t have ingredients for elixirs in his slate right now either, but once he bandaged himself up he could go on a hunt for some. The people in Hateno were the nicest he’d found--they weren’t nosy and didn’t care what he did or who he was--but they didn’t have a potion vendor or anything close to one.

Link pulled back a chair and dumped the supplies onto the table. He fell back into the hard wood with a hiss, pulling his hand away to find it coated in blood. His vision swam. His right side was soaked through and his right leg was sticky with it--he’d have quite a bit of cleaning to do once he took care of the wound. Link yanked his tunic up and away, revealing the extent of the gash. The small part of his brain that still wondered things asked _how are we not dead yet?_ The Lynel’s blade had gone far deeper than he’d initially thought, and with his adrenaline beginning to wear off, Link worried the pain and blood loss would soon knock him out. The sword had sunk straight into his side and cut a wound near to his navel, oozing blood with each breath. It didn’t look too deep--certainly dangerous but not inherently deadly. He would live, if he didn’t bleed out in the next few minutes.

Maybe he would. That sounded like a fitting end for someone like him.

As if sensing his conflict, Link’s pain kicked up a notch, sending black dots cascading across his vision. If it was going to hurt this bad it wasn’t worth the wait. He fumbled for the bandages and began to wrap them around his middle, tight, bright red soaking through them in an instant. Wait, no, there was something else he had to do before he could bandage himself. He froze, but his mind was sluggish, he couldn’t remember. Something to do with a needle, right? Did he have to sew his tunic up first? No, that wasn’t right--

There was a sharp knock at his door, echoing through the emptiness of his home. No one ever came to his house. No one knocked. Link’s breath froze in his chest as the knocking started again, his heart pounding in fear. What had he done this time? Why was someone here? No one came to visit, his house was so far away from town for a reason. Isolated for a reason. No one wanted anything to do with the _failure_ of a hero, a fake hero, a dead hero. Not a hero at all. Link jumped when the voices reached his ears.

“Is he not home?” one said, an older man from the sound of it.

“Old Man, look,” another replied, a hint of surprise in his tone. “There’s blood here. It’s fresh.”

The knocking started again, and Link began wrapping the bandage around himself harder, faster. Blood seeped through just as quickly--stitches, that’s what he needed--but if these people weren’t going to leave him alone he’d have to open the door and tell them to go himself. After he’d wrapped the roll around himself, covering his entire midsection but already stained red, he lurched to his feet. Link’s vision swam and he reached back to steady himself on the chair, which screeched across the floor with his weight. The knocking ceased, the voices became quiet, and Link breathed heavily.

He pulled his tunic down and his hood securely around his head, covering his face, and stumbled towards the door. His bloody hands slipped on the handle a few times but he eventually took hold of it, his side screaming in agony that wiped every thought from his mind as he wrenched the door open.

Four people stood on his doorstep, each one more menacing than the last. The closest wore a wolf pelt, markings on his forehead that pricked at Link’s memory. The tallest was broad and had markings of his own, his armor glinting in the sun and his right eye sealed with a scar. The shortest had a streak of pink hair and false irritation on his face--a familiar look that sent a chill down his spine. The last was young, brown hair wild and hands twisted nervously in front of him. They looked more than travelers, more strange than anyone Link had seen even in the middle of the Hebra mountains. Swords, shields, weapons of every kind adorned them like gems and Link felt fear gnaw at him. They must be here to kill him.

“Excuse us, but we’re looking for Link. Are you him?” the one in armor asked.

No. Yes. Who’s asking. Link? He died a hundred years ago. That’s a good joke.

He couldn’t say any of that if he wanted to.

Should he lie? Why should he trust these four mysterious people who were armed to the teeth? The annoyed one was looking more so by the second. They really are here to kill him, aren’t they. Are his things in order? He doesn’t really have anyone to say goodbye to, does he. Nothing to leave behind, no one to leave it to. No one would look for him, or care if they found him. Just a stupid boy playing at being a hero, it was only a matter of time before they got fed up and sent more assassins. But these men didn’t look like Yiga.

Eventually, he nodded.

“May we come in?” the one in the wolf pelt asked. Link had never heard that one before. No one had come into his house since Bolson sold it to him months ago.

Link nodded again. No use fighting it. If this was the way he went, so be it.

The men filed in, some looking around in interest and some in disgust. It was dusty. He never had company, he was never home, and dust didn’t bother him. Link shut the door and turned around, trying not to fidget as four sets of eyes looked at him. He gestured to the table stiffly and they sat, giving Link a small bit of relief. Maybe they weren’t here to kill him after all?

The brown haired boy was eyeing his slate and the roll of bandages he’d left on the table. He squinted at Link. Not good. Link did his best not to limp or stumble as he joined them, sitting in the same seat as before. He grabbed the slate, hooking it back onto his side-- _Hylia, that hurt_ \--protectively. He could always bolt if things went south.

“Link,” the armored one called, and he looked towards the voice warily. The man’s voice was cautious, like he was talking to a scared animal, and his eye had grown soft. “We’re not here to hurt you. No need to be nervous. We just have a few questions.”

Link nodded stiffly. That was definitely something an assassin would say. The man sighed, turning towards the one in the pelt almost pleadingly.

“Well, it’s a pretty simple question.” the one in the pelt sighed, turning towards him. Link felt his skin crawl with anxiety. “Are you a hero?”

Link froze.

“Did you defeat Ganon, or Ganondorf, or some other kind of evil? Have you ever wielded the Master Sword? Saved a Princess?”

Link found himself shaking his head before the man could finish.

No, he didn’t save anyone. He didn’t defeat anything. He was a failure. Not a hero at all.

“Great, a dead end.” the one with pink in his hair huffed, crossing his arms and glaring across the table. Not at him, but Link winced nonetheless.

“Link, you can trust us.” the armored man started, but Link shook his head harder.

“Maybe we should introduce ourselves?” the one in the pelt suggested.

“What good’ll that do if he’s not the hero?” the annoyed one spat, and Link blinked the black dots from his vision. As the three fell into an argument, Link reached down and felt the bandages through his tunic. They were wet with blood. His hands were shaking, his thoughts sluggish. He felt like his world was tilting on another axis, gravity tugging at him from the side and trying to pull him down. He fought it. He couldn’t pass out, not with strange maybe-assassins here, not when he needed to be awake to sew himself up and rebandage the wound and hunt for supplies and make elixirs. He blinked again, hearing going in and out, but the conversation didn’t involve him at least.

“Are you alright?”

The brown haired boy was looking at him. He looked concerned. Link tensed and nodded his head, which only made him more dizzy. Link blinked and the boy was at his side, hands hovering placatingly, eyes wide. Link backed into his chair, feeling the wood bite into his shoulder blades.

“Let me take a look.” the boy said.

Link shook his head harder, but it was already too late. He didn’t have the strength to push the boy away, and the gasp he let out upon seeing the sheer amount of blood staining Link’s tunic interrupted the bickering beside them.

“He needs a potion, _now._ ” the boy’s voice was like ice, and no one argued. Seconds later there was a bottle of something red being lifted to his lips. Poison? No one had tried to poison him before. Link wondered if it would be quick, painless. He hoped so.

With no way out, Link drank what he was given.

The agony of his side dulled to a throb, then an ache. Link relaxed, feeling a familiar magic course through his veins. Not the same as the healing elixirs he made, but similar. The boy had pulled up his tunic and was inspecting the bandages with a disapproving tut.

“Is he okay?” the one in the pelt asked. Why was he worried? They all looked concerned, even the one who’d started a pointless fight not minutes prior.

“I’m not sure, I need to take a closer look. Is that alright?” the boy looked up at him, and Link supposed he might as well give in. No sense in fighting the inevitable.

He nodded, and the boy set to work unraveling the cloth. There was a hiss as the wound was revealed, and Link looked down in mild curiosity to see it had stopped bleeding. His side was still a mess--the gash hadn’t closed at all, but it didn’t look nearly as bad as it had half an hour ago.

“How the hell did you get an injury like that?” the annoyed one was back to being annoyed, shooting Link an incredulous glare.

‘ _Lynel_.’ Link signed, and the man’s eyebrows shot up in alarm.

“You were fighting a Lynel _alone?_ ” he asked, and Link nodded, confused. “Why the fuck would you do that!”

Link winced. He’d heard that one countless times.

‘ _Someone asked me to._ ’

“So you did it?” the man pinched the bridge of his nose. “No wonder you’re so beat up. Wow.”

‘ _Done it before. Wasn’t lucky this time._ ’ Link shrugged. He was numb to the sting of such words by now.

“This kid must be the hero,” the man suddenly huffed, catching Link off guard. No, no, that’s not how this worked. That should’ve proven how _unheroic_ he was, not convince someone otherwise! Link shook his head with wide, frightened eyes, but the group seemed decided.

“Hey, it’s okay, we really aren’t here to hurt you.” the brown haired one said from his side, shooting him a sheepish smile. “I was the same way when these three showed up at my cave looking for the hero. It’s dangerous work, isn’t it? You never know who might be out to get you…”

Link was starting to warm up to this kid. He offered a hesitant nod, which was met with a wide smile. Huh.

‘ _You’re a hero?_ ’ he signed, and the boy nodded slightly.

“The Hero of Hyrule, they call me. I took on Ganon about three years ago.” the boy replied, sounding a bit distracted as he prodded at Link’s side. It wasn’t very painful, but for his part the boy was being careful.

Wait, did he say three years ago? Link was asleep then, though he would’ve heard about someone else going after Ganon by now. He’d been awake for a little over a year and the only hero he’d ever heard of was the dead one, the one who failed a hundred years ago. The one he tried to be. The one he wasn’t.

So this boy was either lying or something weird was going on. Link decided to keep his mouth shut for now. The boy was also inches away from a wound that could easily end his life if made worse. Better not to aggravate him.

“We’re all heroes, actually.” the armored one cut in. He certainly looked like a hero. “I’m the Hero of Time. My adventures happened long ago, but I saved Hyrule once too.”

“I’m the Hero of Twilight. I defeated Ganon a little over two years ago.” the one in the pelt said softly. Link squinted at him, his memory niggling insistently. He knew this person, but he didn’t remember why. The man seemed to pale under the scrutiny, looking away. Maybe he knew.

“And I’m the Hero of Legend. Saved Hyrule a few times, and some other places. Can’t seem to catch a break.” he grumbled, and Link nodded at that.

‘ _There are no breaks for heroes._ ’ he signed, and the Hero of Legend’s stony facade cracked to reveal a hint of sadness in his eyes. It was gone as quick as it came, but it was enough for Link. These people weren’t lying to him.

“Do you have a title?” the Hero of Time asked, and Link shook his head.

‘ _Not a hero._ ’

“Your name is Link, isn’t it?” he asked, and Link nodded his head, confused.

“You defeated Ganon?”

Another nod, slower.

“Wielded the Master Sword?”

A grimace, and a nod.

“That means you have the Hero’s Spirit, just like us.”

The man sounded so sure, but Link shook his head.

‘ _The hero is dead. He died a hundred years ago. I’m not him._ ’

The room descended into silence so thick Link felt like he was breathing through molasses.

“I’m going to have to stitch this up if we want a potion to work on it.” the Hero of Hyrule’s voice cut in. Link nodded stiffly.

‘ _I can do it--_ ’

“No, let me. You’ve lost a lot of blood, your hands are shaking. It won’t scar as bad if the stitching is neater.”

Link knew he was right, but anxiety welled up in his chest at the thought of someone else giving him stitches. The Hero of Twilight seemed to sense this, catching Link’s attention with a cough as the boy rummaged through his bag.

“So, do you have any questions? You can call me Twilight, by the way. All of our names are Link, so we’ve been using nicknames to make things easier.”

Twilight shot him a small smile, and Link did feel slightly reassured. They were being straight with him, he couldn’t find dishonesty in their posture’s or words. Even if it didn’t make much sense, Link supposed he’d seen and believed weirder things.

‘ _Why are you here?_ ’

“Wow, asking the big questions. Why are any of us here? Why has Hylia forsaken us so.” Legend replied sarcastically, earning himself a glare from Twilight and a deadpan stare from Time.

“We’re all being transported from one Hyrule to the next, seemingly to collect the other holders of the Hero’s Spirit.” Twilight explained, rubbing the back of his neck. “One morning I woke up in Time’s Hyrule and the moment we met up we were taken to Legend’s. The three of us found Hyrule next, and then we were dropped here to find you. It wasn’t easy either, if it hadn’t been for that merchant I doubt we would’ve found you so soon.”

‘ _Merchant? You mean Beedle?_ ’ Link asked in surprise, and Twilight nodded.

“He was the only one who knew a Link. Asking for the hero got us a lot of dirty looks for some reason, even he was confused.”

‘ _That’s because I’m not a hero._ ’

“Would you mind taking off your cloak for a bit? It’ll give me more room to stitch you up.” Hyrule asked quietly, crouching beside him. Link fidgeted. He really didn’t want to. Exposing his face was never a good idea, but the soft look in the boy’s eyes was hard to say no to.

Link untied the cloak and let it fall from his shoulders. He did his best to ignore the concerned and frightened looks he got as the matrix of scars was revealed. A testament to his failure.

“So, you say you’re not a hero… why’s that?” Legend asked slowly, ignoring the glares he got. Link wasn’t bothered, he was used to this line of questioning, though he used to be on the opposite end of it. It’s hard to believe you’re a hero when the whole world tells you you’re not.

‘ _The hero was the Princess’s knight a hundred years ago, tasked with protecting Hyrule from Calamity Ganon. But he failed. He died in battle, allowing Ganon to reign over Hyrule for one hundred years. Zelda was the only thing preventing total destruction. When I woke I finished what the hero started, defeating Ganon so Zelda could seal him away. But my mission isn’t complete--I’m supposed to save Hyrule, and there are still monsters everywhere. I can’t rest until they’re gone._ ’

It was a lot of words. Link wasn’t sure if he’d ever said so much.

“But you defeated Ganon, didn’t you? That makes you a hero.” Twilight nudged, but Link shook his head.

‘ _I’m not a hero, I’m a failure. My duty is only finished when I am allowed to rest._ ’

“You mean die?” Time’s face was unreadable, like Link’s own. He nodded. This man understood.

‘ _I should have died a hundred years ago, but they brought me back. I was given a mission, and it is not complete. Ganon may be gone, but Hyrule is not safe yet._ ’

“You’re right, it’s not.” Time sighed, and he looked so tired. “That’s why we’ve been brought together. Monsters are getting stronger across all our homes. It’s much too big a job for one hero, we’ll need your help to put a stop to whatever is causing this.”

Link paused, wincing minutely as Hyrule threaded a needle through him. The Lynel he’d fought today had been unusually strong. It was only silver, but fought tougher than gold. Link had blamed his own failure, his own stupidity and inability for his injury. But Link had been coming across more and more strong beasts lately. There must be truth in these words too, and if so, Link knew he’d have to accept the mission.

Maybe this would finally be his last.

‘ _I’ll have to leave my home, won’t I?_ ’

“Unfortunately, yes. We don’t have a choice in the matter either. You’ll likely be dragged along with us whether you agree or not.” Time’s voice didn’t waver, but Link saw the resignation, the sadness in his eye. “Do you have anyone you need to say goodbye to first? We may have a day or two before we get taken to the next world.”

Link shook his head. ‘ _No one knows I exist. I doubt anyone will notice I’m gone._ ’

“Finished…” Hyrule announced quietly, and Link looked down to see the neatest stitches to ever grace his body. Impressive.

‘ _Thank you._ ’ Link signed, and Hyrule offered a small smile and nod.

“Drink this,” Hyrule handed over another red potion, but Link shook his head.

‘ _I’m all good now, no worries._ ’

“You nearly bled out, please.” Hyrule pushed it into Link’s hands, and guilt ate at him.

Always using resources. Worrying people with his crazy antics. Pretending to be some kind of hero. Link sipped at the potion and Hyrule nodded appreciatively.

“We all need to be in good shape for the journey ahead. I have a feeling there are more than just the five of us.” Time sighed. He sure sighed a lot. He looked like he needed a break of his own. It was too bad heroes didn’t get to rest.

“So, if you’re coming with us, you’ll need a nickname.” Legend announced, narrowing his eyes in thought and making Link slide down in his chair nervously. “You’re sure you don’t have a hero’s title?”

Link began to shake his head again, but stopped. At the back of his mind a memory flickered to the surface, a calm voice and a sword long put to rest in a forest. Long, long ago, back when things made sense, back when he _was_ a hero--the sword had told him. He’d been confused then, but now... A pit in his stomach formed as he remembered _I’m the reason why this world is in ruin_.

‘ _Hero of the Wilds._ ’ Link signed with stilted motions. Legend grinned, sharp, sarcastic.

“Fitting. Wild it is, then.”

Wild blinked. Was it really that simple?

He had been so long without a name, without a face. _Link_ was the hero. _Link_ had died one hundred years ago. Calling himself Link had never felt right. Townsfolk had scoffed and glared when he introduced himself; whether they thought it was a false name or not seemed to make no difference. Who would name their child after the failed hero? Who would be foolish enough to adopt such a scorned name, who would dare play at being a hero in a world that neither needed nor wanted one.

Wild… was nice. It settled in his chest, in the empty hollow of his heart the name _Link_ had been torn from. It wove through his tattered memories, thrummed with the steady beat of his heart, spoke of a duty passed down to him from above. Wild fit where other names had not. Wild didn’t sound like a hero, Wild sounded like an aimless rogue wandering in search of purpose. Wild spoke of nights under the stars, days fighting monsters, afternoons hunting for food. Drawn bows and rusted swords found in the crumbling ruins of what once was. Wild was _him_.

Wild nodded, and for the first time he could remember since stumbling from the shrine, a small smile tugged at his lips. His face felt stiff--not made for such emotions, but his heart warmed and his spirits rose as if to encourage it more. The heroes around him smiled back, some in relief, others in camaraderie, understanding. Wild didn’t know what he was feeling, he had never been so understood. He thought he was the only one, he thought his life was meant to be led alone, but it seemed the Goddesses had other plans for him. Maybe… Maybe this was the break he’d been looking for.

“Welcome to the team, Wild.”


End file.
